99 sounds like many days. It sounds like enough days to be well on my way to new and improved. I feel…sad. The bliss of pirouetting sober down the sidewalk has worn off. The birds and wee forest creatures are no longer singing me songs. Though a bird did crash into my house as I was leaving for work. Poor bastard. It’s a yellow house, how did he miss it? After gathering himself from the leaves I’ve not raked, he flew up to a tree so I guess he’s ok.

I don’t know if I feel sad or bored. Not understanding what I am feeling or knowing how to sit with it is surely part of why eventually I just wanted to be numb. I don’t want to drink. I have fallen out of the routine of self-care that I had carved out. I have been to the gym once in the last three weeks. My grocery shopping has gotten less mindful. Not over-eating, more like only bothering to get together one meal a day. I am still having trouble with being overwhelmed by how much there is to do to right this ship.

I also know that I am doing the most important thing to right the ship. I am staying sober. On the days I don’t even make it to the gym I am at least sober. I had a horrific weekend at work, there is an ongoing issue that I am failing to leave at the time clock. I was so angry and frustrated and I found myself annoyed that there would be no bloody mary when I got home. But I remembered my little mantra “I will not hurt MYSELF because someone ELSE is awful.” Took a few deep breaths and let go of the notion that a cocktail fixes anything.

I am reluctant to admit that I just don’t like this job anymore. I am more reluctant to admit that I have no idea what to do about that. The money is good, much more than the average nurse salary, and I’m stretched because of this damned house and getting unstretched will involve selling it and I find that overwhelming. I didn’t do a lot of research on how much the upkeep was going to cost on this gorgeous mid-century home because I WAS DRINKING and now I’m sober and realizing that I own a money pit in the most expensive per square foot neighborhood in the metro area lol. Good call, drunk girl, good call.

Anyway, I did at least manage to shower, do some laundry and take out the trash. I probably sound depressed but I really feel like I am mostly tired from working extra shifts. I don’t feel hopeless or insane guilt or the other things I have felt at times past. I just feel like I don’t know what to do next.

I suppose I am a bit like the bird that crashed into my house during the second or two he lay stunned and confused in the leaves. What the hell just happened? Who put that house here? Where am I? Now what do I do? Am I dead?? No, no, not dead. Wings don’t feel broken. Ok, just find a tree. Find any tree and get your shit together. Ooooooh-kay. See? We’re flying, we are fine, we just need a minute.